HxV: 9 Drabbles
by dbspug
Summary: 9 Clean ish slash Mad Hatter/Ventriloquist drabbles. Warnings for Slash, meekly implied sex and violence.


**:CELEBRATE**

The puppet's glass yellow eyes almost seemed to glow in the dark faintly for a few seconds after he'd switched off the light. He shivered -- if not out of fear; then simple for the realization of how haunting the other personalities grip around him seemed to hard to shake.

Even when putting it to sleep.

"Good Night, Mr. Scarface." Arnold Wesker said softly to the small silhouette on the bed.

"Shud dah damn door already. Yer keepin' me awake!"

With an audible sigh Arnold pulled the door shut producing a soft click. The same noise emanated from the wire frames of his glasses as he pressed his forehead to the wood and closed his eyes. This week was dragging on. New job. New partner. New probl--

"Ngh!" The gloved hand landing on his shoulder startled the small man enough that he started against the door -- blunt nails scratching on the brass of the doorknob. Half turning he gave the same low muttering huff of terror that dwindle down to a muddled whine when he realized who it was.

"You're more quick to start then Bill the Lizard you know?" Jervis grinned -- never taking his arm off the other's shoulder. The Mad Hatter was not an overly large man -- average if it counted for anything, but his shoulders were berthed wide enough to cast a overwhelming shadow on the smaller man pinned against the door.

New partner. Constant Wonderland puns. It was rough week.

Arnold finally pulled himself together enough to blink behind those thick frames at the rather big and limy smile of the hatted man. "Y-you remarked before, Mr. Tetch."

"Ah!" The Hatter retorted. "Forgive me. I had other things on the brain -- so to speak. Do you know what today is?"

The Ventriloquist looked down the hallway of the hideout -- away from the other man; for not but a second. Just long enough to see the empty kitchen and the calender pinned on the refrigerator. "April 21? Or it was.. a few hours ago. I-I'm sorry -- have I forgotten something?"

Jervis took this opportunity to pull the smaller man off the door with a looped arm around tuxedo clad shoulders. "Tut, old boy. Yes -- but I suppose when it comes every day its easy to not think it so important. Needless -- I was noticing you seem rather put off. Not getting enough tea time perhaps. So I thought to celebrate. Our glorious heist and all."

"... oh." Honestly, Hatter had lost him half way through the rambling. "Celebrate. A-alright. What are we going to celebrate?"

Jervis' grin broke larger on his face, pushing the wrinkles into his green eyes which gleamed in a cunning light. With one pull he spun the other man in a half dance, pulling him close and gripped his face in strong fingers. "Happy Unbirthday, my Dear!"

The Ventriloquist's blue eyes widened in utter shock as The Matter Hatter pressed a hard chaste kiss to this mouth. Lingering for only moment before the smaller man's body tensed and went to pull away --

-- only to slump limply into arms still encircling him -- a control card nestled snuggly behind one pale ear.

Jervis kissed Arnold's slightly sweaty forehead and smiled. " -- and I shall not hold it against you when you fail to remember this one either."

**:SIGHT**

They were up to no good.

_What_ – however; he'd yet to determine.

Patience was a virtue and he had tones to spare. His surveillance point had comfort issues but when you're perched precariously on wooden rafters in a supposedly abandoned warehouse to keep a watchful eye on two very _disturbed_ men – _comfort_ is of little concern.

Cowled covered eyes narrowed down to toward the corner of the building where the two men stood conversing with each other. The Mad Hatter's brightly checkered pants and emerald coat stuck out like an _eyesore_ when compared to the Ventriloquist's straight black and white ensemble. Two distinctly different individuals disturbed on keenly different levels, but the _same_ in one stone cold fact:

Both criminally_ insane_.

Scarface's jaws clattering together echoed throughout the warehouse along with his crass heavy mafioso laced voice. Hatter's limerick limey tone interrupted just as loud; but when the Ventriloquist _spoke_ – mouth all but pressed into his bow tie – even the keen pointy ears eavesdropping could not pick up on what had been muttered.

None-the-less, neither heard vocals were saying anything of use. Arguing. Insulting. Nothing that would tie them to a crime or give insight on one yet to be.

The puppet tired of the useless chatter before the Bat did. Scarface finally bumped square shoulders; called Tetch a 'gumgling nincompoop' and ordered the Ventriloquist to take him to bed. Which the little man did – immediately.

Batman scowled. Without the puppet present, there was_ little_ chance anything at all would be said that would be incriminated. But on a ting of hope. He _waited_.

The Ventriloquist returned after a bit – puppetless; rubbing the back of his head and muttering into his shirt again. To his return; Hatter unexpectedly danced in a comical Victorian-like circle around the little man. Coat tails swishing and spatted shoes clicking heels against the floor. Batman was sure the man had a method to his madness – but _madness_ it still was.

Wesker did not seem to find the dance as baffling as the voyeur for he stood quite still. It wasn't until Hatter snatched his hands and began to bodily _insist_ the little man '_come and join the dance_' did the other criminal do anything that could be heard.

Nothing _spoken_ – he loudly squeaked and went fumbling along with two left feet in tow; more so dragged by the Hatter then any sort of elegant follow. It was pointless really – but part of the Bat wished that all that _would_ go on between madmen could have been nothing _but_ silly insane dancing. Completely off the wall – but harmless; innocent madness.

Innocence; however could _turn_ rather quickly.

Tetch proceeded to dance the other man right into a nearby wall. Wesker's back thunked lightly against the surface as Hatter leaned down all but obscuring the smaller man from the Bat's view.

For a moment, the Dark Knight worried they might have been keen on his presence; resorting to whispering among each other. He quickly moved across the rafters; silently – black cape appearing for the briefest second. The Bat settled to the slight right of the pair and glanced down at them once more.

Their mouths were indeed_ working_ with each other – but not in the _manner_ he'd previously deduced. _Kissing_. Lips locked heatedly together, red faced and tight. Hatter had pinned the hands he'd caught in dance against the wall low next to Wesker's hips.

This was not expected. Batman's eyes widened beneath his cowl. When the kiss broke he could see the thin shimmer of spit break from their lips.

"Would you... could you..?" Tetch whispered harshly enough to be heard.

Wesker's reply – once more, _could not_, but the sound of his knees hitting the ground echoed and so did the grind of Hatter's zipper.

Batman continued to watch even though he couldn't see anything but the top of the Ventriloquist's head.

_Comfort_, it turned out; might have scaled up in importance. He was going to be _stuck_ up there for a while.

**:NOTHING**

Hours upon hours alone in a perfectly measured cell for his _own_ good. This was supposed to help cure someone's_ insanity_? Obviously the doctors at Arkham had never heard of a little mental illness called _Cabin Fever_. It was a good thing he was already _mad_ – or The Mad Hatter would have gone so months ago.

"You can't very well have less than _nothing_," he told the glass; the lumpy bed _and_ the stain on the floor. None of which were very good listeners but that didn't stop Jervis from chattering, "yet _nothing_ I have hordes of! What ever shall I do with my bounty of _nothing_? I could knit myself a cowl of _nothing_ and wear it like a hat!" said whilst jabbing a finger into the mess of graying orange atop his head to emphasize.

His audience of _nothing_ choose to say just that – nothing.

Disgruntled, Jervis walked toward the glass and stared out to the cell across from him. What he caught a glimpse of made his fists curl and his teeth grit in utter rage.

The Ventriloquist, who resided across the way, was currently tucking Scarface into the bed that was meant for the little man to sleep in. It always seemed the puppet got the better of all this _nothing_ they were offered. And though Jervis could not hear anything between two slates of glass _and_ the noise of his _own_ uneven teeth grinding together, it was still easy to tell the Arnie was singing – SINGING to the blasted piece of kindling.

It was completely _unfair_. That in all his _madness_. All his _loneliness_. All his deepest wants and needs for _someone_. All his_ nothing_ – that right across the way NOTHING and MADNESS had found a way to never be alone at all! It wasn't deserved – not _one_ bit!

Scarface, he meant of course, as the _undeserving_ one! Stupid wooden cur! Spiteful useless log! To having someone like _Arnie_. If only Jervis could have someone like _that_ to sing songs to him. So kind, so meek, so polite and caring and and _and_ oh –oh -OH.. OH _FRABJOUS DAY_! Jervis clapped his hands just thinking about it!

The white haired man turned and looked towards him at that moment; those big circle glasses reflected harshly as he did so. Oh! Attention at last? The Hatter grinned widely and placed one hand on the smudge up glass in greeting.

Arnie blinked and looked toward the lump on the bed before he took one small step toward the glass. He started to raise his own hand only to shiver full bodily as a _growl_ echoed loud enough for even Jervis to hear. There was a soundless apology and the Ventriloquist _flomphed_ to the floor and buried his head in his arms to go to sleep.

"We don't want _you_ with us," Jervis quoted meekly to all his _nothing_ and bumped his head against the glass to shed a bitter tear.

**:DINNER**

"So I tells dah meat 'ead 'e can either gutten e's lip or I was gonna shud it for em!"

"Oh? So what became of these unbuttoned appendages dare I ask?"

"Youse _gotta_? HA! I 'ad em ripped off 'n' stapled t'my ass where day should'ah been in dah foist place!"

Arnold softly groaned and pushed his plate of Linguine away from him – never one to be very hungry; especially when _lip-ripping_ was the subject of choice.

"How utterly barbaric." Jervis said between mouthfuls of bread and butter. While the Hatter voiced disgust he apparently _did not_ suffer a loss of appetite.

"Huh? Shad up! Wasn't like I offed dah sorry jerk! E jus' anit gonna ge doin' any whistlin' dat's fer sure!"

Their conversation was interrupted by the their very nervous waiter. The man bore a sheer sheen of sweat on his forehead. He had every right to be so worried. It wasn't every evening that two notorious criminals hold up a four star restaurant, tied up ninety-nine percent of the crew, lock the rest of the customers in the store room, took out the phones, place goons at every door --

-- and order _dinner_!

"W-would either of you g-gentlemen be interested in d-dessert or wine this e-evening?"

"No thank you," the Mad Hatter waved his butter knife about sending the yellow gook splattering across the poor man's apron, "but I shall have more tea."

"Yeah! Gut none of dah dat damn tea fer me. Gring me some cheesecake 'n' it getter not suck!"

The Ventriloquist just shook his head.

With a loud wet swallow the waiter bowed and went to fetch the ordered items.

"So," the Mad Hatter twirled the butter knife again, ".. no lips what-so-ever? How does the man eat?"

"Ogviously not wit us. Yah should see dah guy tryin' tah drink too – sloggerin' all ovah dah place!"

Arnold nudged his plate _again_ – sighing.

**:FRIENDS**

In all honesty he'd never seen such a right fit over something so insignificant.

_Mind your manners._ Jervis internally scolded himself with a slight wrinkle of his nose. _Value of worth can be a finkle thing you know this very well._

Still -- planted where he was on the asylum's couch he'd observed the whole episode with the same curiouser and curiouser state of being. From the initial crass outbreak; to the unnecessarily physical violence and finallt to wrap up the whole silly little scene when the staff finally took said insignificant object away.

_Good riddance_. Jervis even nodded a normally hatted head in agreeance, but kept his attention on the other.

The man that now sat curled in the corner of the wreak room rocking back and forth struck Jervis; with tear stained face buried in thin scarred arms; glasses pushed up upon his forehead -- as most hodgepodge mixture of White Rabbit and Mock Turtle.

_Weeping for your watch no doubt -- there is no time for such nonsense._ Yet still. _Poor creature._

Jervis cleared his throat and stood. He adjusted the wrinkles out of his own Arkham scrub before slowly making his way toward the pathetically curled form; pausing before the other to quirk down at the short stork white hair which needed no cutting -- yet could of used a brush.

Hence, he plopped himself soundless down on the floor before the tragic form; hands on his own knees and began to recite from memory.

_"The Sun was shining on the sea --_

_Shining with all his might._

_He did his very best you see,_

_to make the billows smooth and bright."_

He cheerfully made his way through half the poem before his weepy little audience finally raised his face from the sanctuary of his own arms . Jervis was giving a slight blink from blurry wrinkled-creased blue eyes. The Ventriloquist wobbled what appeared to be a smile and rested his chin upon his knees. Nothing was said; but attention had turned.

There was a tip of an imaginary hat amidst Jervis' grin and he continued reciting without any interruptions.

**:BLUE**

He could admit that indeed it _was_ a nice color. However, that did not stop him from feeling _completely_ awkward. After all; no matter how short, how soft spoken, how gentle, how utter _childlike_ he really was – Arnold simply did not look _quite right_ in a dress.

He could thank what little luck he had that it was at the very least somewhat proper. Its baby blue skirts were ankle length; the petticoat closed and ribboned; the sleeves puffed. Crimped, primped and all the more _adorable_

-- had he been a _twelve year old_ girl.

But with a matching blue bow pinned in Arnold's stork white hair, Jervis felt he could _over look_ such triffs as wrinkles or the other man's constant sweaty state.

"_Marvelous_! _Splendid_! You know it really is _quite_ a striking fit, why it even matches your eyes, my dear!"

"Ummmm...T-thank you?" Arnold murmured in uncertainty – itching his scarred and calloused puppet hand into his hair dislodging the bow. Jervis was quick to rescue the wandering accessory and place it back upon the other man's head.

The Ventriloquist sighed softly and fumbled his mismatched hands into the folds of the billowy skirt. "Are you s-sure Mr. Scarface _isn't _going to see me like this? I'm pretty sure he wouldn't approve."

The Mad Hatter tsked loudly and placed a gloved finger on Arnold's well bitten bottom lip. "What should it _matter_, Mr. Wesker – if your uncivilized wooden brute cares not for the _special_ attire I've fitted you with this evening? I approve highly – And you're _not_ wearing it for him, _are you_?"

Arnold didn't actually speak around the still pressed digit, but the concerned flurry of his eye brows was enough to make Jervis huff lightly and roll his eyes in slight irritation.

"No one will see," the Mad Hatter reassured his nervous 'Alice', "No one but me."

It was difficult to tell if this calmed the other man's inner discomfort for his expression remained fixed. He ceased his protesting, however. Jervis took this as permission to continue along with his sordid little fantasy. Arms were coiled around the laced back and he pulled the other with him into one of the over-sized chairs nearby. A coax, a tug, a situating of legs that had _no idea_ how to sit proper-like in a dress, and the Hatter grinned triumphantly at the little man now perched in his lap.

"Now I insist the _young lady_ tell us a story."

"Uh..." The Ventriloquist's brows fluttered again. "W-what type of story?"

"It does not matter – just be quick about it."

"Oh..Okay." Arnold did his best to scratch at his brain to come up with some sort of tale to tell...

-- though he realized that might be _difficult_ when a gloved hand fumbled under his skirt.

"..."

**:BROKEN**

Between two utterly erratic minds it had taken the addition of a clearly _saner_ one to create such an unwanted mess.

Had he not been so deeply petrified in those last few moments, Arnold might have mused – that the man in the black cape and cowl was the _crazy_ one. That, _however_, would have been opening up that proverbial pot calling the kettle 'black'.

Still... Oh what a tragic and dreadful mess it was. Noteworthy even. The colorfully laid tea table had been overturned; its contents spilled across the ground. The dark brew tea had mixed and bred with the butter spawning a blight crumb dotted stain seeping deep into the table cloth. The chairs had been tossed; their legs snapped unevenly. Most of the take from the heist had been scattered about the hideout; but Arnold's attention wavered to a singe red stained bill that had caught against the toe of his scuffed loafer.

He let his gaze slip from the money to the near black blood that was smeared across the floor. It extended from the foot of that dark inky figure's feet all the way across to the other side of the room where Jervis' twitching form laid face down gurgling agony and hatred. The sucker-punch the he'd received had been hard enough to have his already scattered wits knocked _completely_ askew.

Just off to the side of the writhing, bleeding Hatter; the puppet was flopped in a similar fashion. Its limbs lopsided. Its wooden head fumbled lost among the disaster of the table.

Everything. Ruin.

As a black gloved hand shot and and snagged Arnold by the front of his tuxedo his glassed dislodged from his face and went clattering toward the floor. The noise of them shattering was the breaking point in this chaos.

"Y-you _broke_ everything!" The Ventriloquist sobbed defeated.

"Everything except you," Batman replied, "I can't break what's already in pieces."

**:TOO MUCH**

Damn these blasted clothes!

Jervis had never been one to curse someone's style -- but at this particular moment he'd come to the rather irritating conclusion that both he and his little puppeteer wore _faaar_ too much clothing. With layers upon layers of things just..._getting in the way_ he was debating wither or not the next time they hung out that it shall be a naked party!

Naked sexy party.

Still -- the clothes in their own right -- could be very entertaining.

The Ventriloquist had a lot more sense in style then the Hatter himself. After all -- Jervis tended to thrown on whatever slacks with the most godly unmatching shirt and jacket. Whoever his company was often risked being blinded by offblues, grass greens and sunshine yellow! Even his hat could be a questionable eye sour. Matching shoes were an utter option as well. But in a pinch Mad Hatter always manage to look -- the part of course -- and _awkwardly_ charming.

Arnold -- however - always matched. Always streamlined. Black and white only offshooted by the gray of the trenchcoat that swished down to his ankles. His tailored tuxedo fit his slim compacted form perfectly. All the lines were -- no, _had been_ -- in the proper places. Spatted shows shined. The white of the dress shirt so amicable and freshly ironed. Arnie had looked so much more -- sensible then Jervis.

That was until Hatter had invited him to roll around on the ground. Yes -- _had been_ properly aligned -- but greedy gloved hands yanking and shifting -- rearranging bits O'this and bit's O'that and he'd managed to make the much more neatly dressed man look as haphazard as he was.

"What is this _coat_ you're wearing?" Jervis murmured into the throat he was currently snaggling teeth into lightly. He'd pinned the smaller man to the floor, holding those oh-so cutely cuffed sleeved wrists down against the ground with his mussy gloved hands. Checkered thighs sprawled on either side of tuxedo'd hips. His knees were holding down the swishable tails of the trenchcoat he'd queried about, "it's hardly cold."

"Ngh--," Arnie could only groan in reply at first -- his delicate wrists rotating in those dirty gloves -- the seam of his trousers constricting him hellishly, "I-it was cold -- but then you..," he trailed off as the Hatter moved his mouth up his jawline and nibbled his ear.

"No," Jervis mused, "it's not cold anymore -- I've gone and heated things up haven't I?" He was more than slightly annoyed -- not only had he needed to dispose of the puppet (currently tossed into another room) before any of this could take place his pawn seemed to be so very overdressed. Coat business! In _May_? The Oysters had long since left their beds -- in fact Jervis' little Oyster wouldn't have minded a new snug home right about now, "you'll permit me to loosen your buttons, won't you my dear? I'm afraid it might get so hot you'll not be able to stand it!"

"I can't stand it already!" Arnold yelped and struggled -- causing one of his mentioned dress shirt buttons to pop off to god knows where.

Well.. it was a start. Now! Just to get rid of all this .._too much clothing_. Gloved hands went to work. Pulling! Ripping! Tugging! Opening!

And frankly -- they had quite a pile by the time they were both naked and grinding away. Oh -- but Jervis kept his hat on.

No point being complete savages about it. That would be _too much_ after all.

**:LUNCH**

"Oh, Oh! I would be most obliged if you put turkey on that, my dear! I know its not fetching to put turkey and grilled cheese in the same occupied space -- but I'd really fancy that! You'll do that won't you?"

"If you like," the Ventriloquist was busy digging out a few pots and pans from the cabinet next to the refrigerator. It was an average day -- middle of a heist and well -- The Mad Hatter always insisted they stop for such things as Lunch, Tea, Supper, Midnight snack. It was a wonder they man hadn't bulged out of his striped pants with the way he ate.

"Turkey onna grill'd cheeze sammich, what are youse? Some kinda gargarian! Dat's fuckin' gross, Hat!" Scarface's jaw did not flap, as Arnie had sat him down on the counter next to the stove when the little man had gone to start up Lunch. Jervis was leaning on the opposite side of said cooking area -- simple getting in the way. Arnold had become accustom to this and had learned to work around the awkward man.

"If I wanted you opinion on my dinning preferences Cur -- I'd use you to light my fire and roast something juicy over you!"

"I'd like to see youse try dat!"

"D-don't fight," Arnie murmured from the fridge, pulling out cheese and questionable Turkey. He wasn't even sure this meat was any good. He was staring at the expiration date and doing his best to ignore the two quarreling in the kitchen with him.

"You know, you don't have a _stomach_ Scarface, anything you eat is wasted to not muchness of anything!

"Yer teef wot grinds shit up to not much O'anything. Why dun youse go knock over a dentist, yah gucktoofed ninny!"

"Don't you patronize my mouth -- at least I have one that can actually enjoy my sandwich you useless twittering piece of lumber!"

"Youse wanna sammich dat gad? Leans down 'ere 'n' I'll give youse one of t'knuckle verity!"

"Why _y-you!_"

"Hahaha dat's wot I toaght -- Ey! Put me down! What's dah hell youse tink yer doing! Ey! 'EY! OW OWOW!"

The smell of burning cloth and wood had The Hatter's large mentioned crooked grin becoming a bit more sinister as he used the burner of the stove to literally set the damn puppet on fire. "Let's see how you eat once I've SINGED off your mouth!"

The flames were just starting to lick up the puppet's face when Jervis heard a sound like a pot of boiling water going off -- wait no, it was Arnie. And he was screaming.

"AHHH! LEAVE MR. SCARFACE ALONE!"

**CLANG!!**

The force of the frying pan broadsiding his head made the Hatter go stiff as a board for just second, his eyes crossed and then he collapsed in a muddle pile of mismatched clothing -- the burning Scarface on top of him.

It wasn't until moments later when Arnold hit them BOTH with the fire extinguisher that Hatter had any sense about him at all. He opened his eyes to see three Arnolds frowning down at them -- clutching the red and white hosed items.

"The turkey's expired Jervis.. You'll have to settle for cheese only," they all told him as if they'd not just bitchslapped him with a frying pan.

"I seee..." Jervis gargled out.

"Now go wash your hands, both of you, please -- I won't have ash on the kitchen table!"

Scarface grunted, still laying singed on Jervis' chest, "Fuck dis sammach shit -- let's order a pizza."

"Only if it comes in a cardboard container," Hatter groaned, suddenly fearful of cooking for the rest of his life.


End file.
